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And everyone should sing along - “Hometowns” is lovely, with Underwood’s cadence on the verses echoing Bruce Hornsby’s in “The Way It Is”. I can relate to Sara Evans’ “Missing Missouri”, but everyone can sing along to Underwood’s “Thank God For Hometowns” - which, as a formality, does mention Prescott Lane and Mrs. In part, this must have been a calculation to extend Underwood’s reach. In fact, if you scour these lyrics for specific details, characters, proper nouns, etc., you won’t find much. As with most of these songs, “Who Are You”‘s lyrics are generalized platitudes, so Underwood sings it like she’s addressing a fellow deity, which - having conquered American Idol, Billboard, and her very own NHL player - must be the only challenge left. At least that’s my hope for closing song “Who Are You”, an awesome Mutt Lange composition that pumps the “power” back in “power ballad”. On about half the songs, Underwood and producer Mark Bright employ pedal steel and country tropes (see “Wine After Whiskey”), but most of the rest could slip easily into the playlist of syndicated Adult Contemporary seductress Delilah and nobody would bat a tear-filled eye. First single “Good Girl” telegraphed its sass and handclaps to the top of the country chart and to the all-around top 20, “Blown Away” is still climbing, and aside from Underwood’s Oklahoma pedigree, there’s nothing traditionally country about either one. Notably, on the cover of Can’t Fight Fate Dayne looked like she could use a comb.īlown Away seems destined to cement Underwood’s pop music divinity - it debuted at number one on the big Billboard chart and is still hanging out in the top 20 nearly four months later. Underwood inhabits the supernatural just as convincingly as Dayne, but Underwood is less scary and it’s harder to imagine falling in love with her. When Taylor Dayne usurped the divine on 1989’s “Can’t Fight Fate” - “You might not understand it / Oh, but that’s what the plan is”, where “the plan” equaled “falling in love with Taylor Dayne” - her voice was big but wild, vowels bending all over the place, a hurricane organizing itself into a leering face.
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People sometimes refer to Underwood’s big voice as a “force of nature,” by which they mean powerful, yes - but isn’t there also something impersonal about her voice? She keeps that little edge on her notes so you can tell who’s singing, but like Beyoncé or Shania Twain, Underwood seems to exist apart from humans on a plane where cyclonic talent meets icy professionalism. She attacks her long “-ayyyyyyyyyy” sounds at top volume and without vibrato, a relentless gale flattening everything in her path. Then the storm appears, portrayed by Underwood’s voice. Under a gathering storm of pizzicato strings and regular strings, little chimey sounds and 16th-note guitar chicka-chickas, Underwood conjures “a mean old Mister” and the daughter he’s abused the daughter hides in the cellar and prays for a real rain to come and wash her scummy Daddy off the Oklahoma plains. Which, as it happens, is the plot of “Blown Away”, the title song of Underwood’s fourth album. Her arched eyebrow isn’t bracing against the storm so much as conjuring it into existence. She has an entourage of supplicants whose sole job is to ply her with combs, and anyway she controls the wind. Carrie Underwood does not need your comb.
BLOWN AWAY SONG SKIN
She’s poised, her skin aglow, dress billowing, hair blowing, but not the way most people’s hair blows - so messy and pitiful you wanna offer them a comb.